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“Yes. It’s fairly standard. Nothing to worry about. It simply states that you are a loyal citizen of the United States. And that you disavow anything un-American.”
“But what does that mean?” Evie said, genuinely perplexed. “Who decides what’s un-American?”
“Now, now, as I said, it’s nothing to worry about. Just a formality. You’re simply stating that you are not a radical or an agitator or, ah, friends with any suspected radicals. That you would report any such radicals to the proper authorities.”
Evie read through the page. She looked up at Mr. Phillips. “You want me to say Mabel was a terrible person. To say that I didn’t know her and she wasn’t my friend. You want me to disavow Memphis and Ling and Sam.”
Mr. Phillips looked suddenly old to Evie. As if he’d gone to bed but woken in the morning more exhausted by sleep. “If you want to have a show at WGI, you’ll need to sign, Evie.”
Evie could lose her show. She imagined the busybodies back home in Ohio, the ones who thought she’d never amount to anything, being proven right in their minds. How they’d cluck their tongues over it and nod smugly. Told you that one was a bad apple.
In a daze, Evie left her seat. She wandered to the tall windows and looked out at the gray smoke wafting past jagged skyscraper roofs, and at the spring rain dotting the shiny glass windows. The view from up high had always thrilled her. Next, she cast her gaze down to the pavement below and the ant-like people racing about, unseeing.
“Evie?” Mr. Phillips called. He was waiting. He didn’t like to wait, she knew.
Evie walked back to the big desk and took hold of the pen. It was heavier than it looked. She rolled it between her fingers.
“You see, Mr. Phillips, the truth of it is, I am so very American.” She slapped the pen down on the onerous paper and slid them both toward her boss. “And that is precisely why I can’t—no, why I refuse to sign this.”
“If you don’t sign, I’ll have no choice but to fire you.”
“My dear Mr. Phillips,” Evie said sweetly. “You can’t fire me. I quit.”
Evie was now one of those anonymous ants on the street. She tried to put her gloves on the wrong hands, gave up, and shoved them in her pocketbook. It wouldn’t close. So many objects. Why did she have all these things in her handbag? She took the gloves out again, tucking them under her armpit.
A panhandler stuck out his empty hat. “Help, Miss?”
Evie looked into her pocketbook. First, she gave him everything in her coin purse, which came to two dollars and twenty-seven cents. Next, she put in her gold compact, a gift from a store owner who’d wanted a mention on the radio. Evie pulled out her sterling silver flask. It was the first item she’d bought for herself with her money from the radio show. Evie unscrewed the tiny top and took a solid swig. She held it over the open hat
, then brought it back.
“Oh, applesauce.” She took one last swig for good measure. And then she dropped the flask into the man’s hat.
“God bless you, Miss!” the man called.
“That would be nice,” Evie said over her shoulder. “But I won’t hold my breath.”
The weather turned warmer.
Blue skies returned. But they were not the same blue. The sky was paler, harder. In the city, it was becoming dangerous for Diviners. A psychic in Greenwich Village, dragged from his storefront shop by a mob, lay in a hospital with three broken ribs. “That’s for Sarah Snow!” his attackers had shouted as they kicked the confused, crying man. Blame was the balm for the city’s fear and grief. It was the finger-pointing to the other—You! You did this! It’s your fault!
Evie sat at Theta’s tiny kitchen table. Her feet ached. She’d walked for miles before finally ending up at the Bennington. Theta poured them two glasses of milk and stirred in some Ovaltine.
“What are you going to do now, Evil?” Theta asked, putting one glass in front of Evie.
Evie swallowed down half. It was thick and chocolaty and good. “I’m going to find Sam. Those Shadow Men took him. I know it. And I’m going to follow every clue until I hunt him down and get him back.”
“You tell your uncle and Sister Walker what you’re up to?”
“They killed my brother. I’m not telling them anything ever again.”
Theta nodded, sipped her milk. “What about Jericho? You heard anything from him?”
Evie shook her head. Her bones ached. She could barely keep her eyes open.
Theta stood up. “Okay. That’s it. I’m putting you to bed.”
“I’m not tired,” Evie said on a yawn.
